


The First Time

by hyekyo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyekyo/pseuds/hyekyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime surprised himself by inviting the overly tall girl to dinner (though he had said it in less flowery terms) which caused the wench, he decided to call her that, to turn into a most fascinating shade of red, in stark contrast to her blue blue eyes which he noted seemed to resemble the sky in its clearest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enigma

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters will be short, though some will be rather wordy. I needed a respite from the UST in The Order of Things and what a respite it was. Anyway, this story is complete and I will be posting one chapter a day.

The first time Jaime saw her was at Catelyn Stark’s office. She was too broad and too tall and too freckled and the Stark matriarch had never looked so fragile and willowy in that moment. His eyes flickered to the girl more than he knew he should but she seemed like an enigma and words and insults bubbled in his throat no matter how hard he tried to contain them. Tyrion shot him a dirty look, a warning to keep his mouth shut but the wench was immovable and Jaime liked a challenge. When the meeting was done (it was to discuss some venture they met for, Tyrion was marrying the eldest Stark girl soon and the bad blood between them has to be cleansed at all costs, and what better first step than a business venture), Jaime surprised himself by inviting the overly tall girl to dinner (though he had said it in less flowery terms) which caused the wench, he decided to call her that, to turn into a most fascinating shade of red, in stark contrast to her blue blue eyes which he noted seemed to resemble the sky in its clearest.

That night he dreamt of her and he drowned in her, in her eyes, in her mouth, in her skin, _in_ her. He woke up with the most arresting arousal he could ever remember having.

 

 

He took his post at the Starks some three months after and the wench was not there, Tyrion noticed him hovering about the accounting department and made mention of how Brienne was with Catelyn back at Winterfell and that if he intended to make an impression on her he would have to be less inconspicuous about it, “You look like a puppy in love.”

He only chuckled at his brother but decided not to think anything more about it. He was only intrigued, not interested, though a little voice in his head told him how the two words if put in a Venn diagram would have overlapping areas suggesting that they share the same meaning. Suggesting that, in short, he was both intrigued and interested.

By the end of his second month the wench was back and he found himself hovering about the accounting department once more. She was big and more freckled than ever but her work was flawless and her little notes made much much sense. She was nice to the interns and to the other employees but never to him. By that time, he knew that intrigued and interested were halves of the same whole and he did voice his interest about her, in her, more than once, to which she, each time, promptly replied with a grimace, a red face, followed by her walking out.

 

 


	2. Volleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Jaime saw her outside of the office, seven months since they first met at the Starks, she reminded him that her name was Brienne and not wench and proceeded to provide him with a combination of backhands and forehands and volleys and slices that had him running for the ball at a tennis court he frequented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I'd be posting a chapter a day but I realized that I want everything out now to clear my head for the lengthy (and meaty) tenth chapter of The Order of Things so here's everything.

The first time Jaime saw her outside of the office, seven months since they first met at the Starks, she reminded him that her name was Brienne and not wench and proceeded to provide him with a combination of backhands and forehands and volleys and slices that had him running for the ball at a tennis court he frequented. He was drenched in sweat as soon as she deemed her point had been taken and he was laughing so hard, sprawled on the courts, half-hard at the sight of her flushing and red and angry and powerful, _powerful_ , and he knew he wanted her. He rushed to his feet and went to find her in the locker rooms, thinking how he would want to take her to coffee, lunch, whatever fits, whatever she would like, and then he would take her _home,_ take her on his bed, on his couch, against the wall, again and again until the wee hours and then he would fuck her again in the morning, schedules and meetings be damned, and he would suggest they start something new.

But she had gone and he had developed a full-blown arousal so all he could do was laugh.

 

 

The next time Jaime saw her outside work, two weeks after the tennis courts (two weeks of him hovering about her in the office while she grunted and glared at his words), it was a weekend and she was having lunch alone at a quaint restaurant when he chanced by her and saw a bastard named Ron Connington bad mouthing her. She was fuming with anger that he could see but she seemed unable to do anything as Connington and the rest of his puny gang lambasted her with words, words which sent a coil burning through him. He was quick to anger and the next thing he knew his hand was crashing against the ugly face of the bastard, again and again until both Connington’s face and his hand was bleeding rather profusely and the wench was hauling him to his feet, into a nearby clinic where they were advised to get treatment at a hospital some miles away because he broke bones and the clinic does not have enough equipment. The wench was quick to react, hailing a cab while she cradled his bandaged hand (he was given first aid) in her lap, her eyes swimming and swimming and he wanted to kiss her then. But the ride was quickly over and the tall girl was pulling him to emergency. He was given sedatives and he soon fell asleep, his good hand curling tight around the wench’s and when he woke up the girl was asleep by his bed side, his hand broken and bandaged, suspended in air by some weird contraption similar to a tourniquet.

“Wench.”

Her eyes opened slowly and he failed to realize he had held his breath. “Jaime.”

 

 

Some days after he was released from the hospital. The wench did come in once or twice and brought fruits though he was asleep whenever she did, Tyrion informing him belatedly that she did after he began grunting about the ungrateful wench. When he did come back to the Starks he walked to her office, hand still in cast and found her alone with a pile of papers in front of her, Pod, the intern, missing and probably on an errand. There was no one to interrupt them when he spoke to her, her eyes blinking wide at the sight of him, her first statement inquiring about the condition of his hand and his response was a matching question asking who the hell was Ron Connington to her. Her brows furrowed and he was worried she would turn him away but she was soon telling him about that time in college when the boys at her department made a bet about her virginity, Ron had been that close to getting it but she found out before it was too late and she almost gutted him in response though her scholarship prevented her to. He was relieved, sort of, that the bastard was not someone he had to contend with, but he regretted for breaking _just_ the bastard’s nose. He told her this and she gave him a laugh and he realized he liked the sound of mirth coming from her lips. He made some lewd remarks about how he would like “To get inside Big Brienne” before he knew it (though he added how he would like to do that because he would really like to and not because of a childish bet) and soon she was hauling him out, a promise of some bodily harm, her blue eyes glaring at him, face red and blushing.

 

 


	3. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was quick to follow her then and when he arrived she was peeling sweat-drenched layers of clothing and stepping into the steam bath and though it would be reckless to follow her there, risk himself (it was the female locker room) but the courts were empty and they were the last persons there and damn it all but he was going in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Longer than the first ones. And quite explicit.

The next time he saw her again was at the same tennis court four months after (Catelyn went back to Winterfell once again with the tall girl in tow). It was the courts he frequented and seeing her there again (when the first had been a mere coincidence) had the gears in his head turning. He challenged her, all big words and too much bravado, but Brienne (not wench) only raised a brow at him and proceeded to pummel him like she did the last time. He decided then to show her he was more than his big words and tossed his racquet from one hand to another, a move which had her brows furrowing and breath huffing and puffing and soon she was the one running around the courts. He did give her a sound beating and when the game was over, game, set and match in his favor, 6-4, 6-4, 5-7, 7-5, he crossed the courts to shake her hand which she took all but very briefly, jests and insults flying off his mouth in an instant and she responded by stalking off to the female locker room. He was quick to follow her then and when he arrived she was peeling sweat-drenched layers of clothing and stepping into the steam bath and though it would be reckless to follow her there, risk himself (it was the female locker room) but the courts were empty and they were the last persons there and damn it all but he was going in. So he did. He felt his cock stir at the blueness of her eyes wide upon finding him amidst the steam and the words “What are you doing here?” barely out of her lips when he did crash his mouth against hers, skin meeting skin in the most intense of fashions, his arousal brushing hard against the inside of her thigh, hands snaking to pull her closer, tighter, mouth urging hers to open up, tongue seeking her taste, her feel, _her,_ urging her to become more alive in his arms, more responsive. He palmed a small breast that had her shuddering and melting and he felt the sudden losing of her balance as her weight dragged them to the edge of the bath, her back digging against the ledge and he felt her wince. He pulled back, eyes sparkling and he ran his tongue languidly on her lower lip when he offered to finish this in his place, which was just some blocks away.

“No.” Her voice was a mere whisper and he only smiled at her hard headedness, fingers snaking past her thighs to touch her center and prove a point. He did say lewdly that she was wet, and as it was, it would be too rude of him not to finish what he had started, to complete what he knew both of them wanted since the first time they saw each other. His fingers languidly traced her seams, plunging ever so slightly only to pull back when she shuddered, her hands reaching to pull him closer by the small of his back. His mouth found hers again and he did a lazy tracing of the inside of her mouth, fingers hovering above her pulsing core, teasing and teasing until she took hold of his hand and guided it to the want screaming between her legs, urging him to touch her more and more and make her feel alive and there, there, faster and faster and harder and harder and then she was bucking against him, the release uncoiling in the most brutal of ways, almost painful as it was pleasurable, as she collapsed against him, her body warm and slick.

“Brienne.” He kissed the underside of her chin, thumb caressing the little hardened pebbles of her meagre breasts. “It’s unfair.” He pushed below the water to reach for her ankle, urging her to put it up, around his waist to let him closer. She opened her eyes, blue receding only to rim the darkened desire swimming in the orbs and followed, letting him push her closer to the edge, to the ledge submerged in water and didn’t protest when he sat her there, legs wide apart and so close, so close to his throbbing cock. He almost cursed when she accidentally brushed against it, the touch igniting something within him and he hastened, pulling her legs more securely around him, hands reaching to cup her arse and position her closer, her first ring of tightness touching his hardness when he felt her stiffen.

“I’ve never…” It did occur to him to stop, to halt this spontaneous fucking and bring her home to properly make love to her on his bed (the use of the words make love did struck him odd) but she was saying she was sorry for bringing it up, that he could continue if he still wanted to, if it was alright with him that she was a virgin, and she said that he should not worry even if she was, she would not be clingy in any way and if a fuck’s all he could give, then a fuck’s all she would take.

So he kissed her mouth then and asked that if he could give more than a fuck, “Would you take more than a fuck?”

“I guess I would.” He chuckled then and pushed her closer, his cock pushing through until he felt her stiffen a little and all he could do was murmur words of encouragement in her ears to make her relax. She did bit back smugly about how she could take pain well and he only smiled against her mouth as he kissed her again, his cock plunging into her depths, ever so slow until he was sure she was alright, a fire lighting in her eyes, a moan issuing from her mouth, her hands digging through his hair as he moved, a rhythm he thought that would not make her uncomfortable until the interesting buck of her hips had him speeding up, a coil in him growing tighter and tighter and warmer and hotter. He let his mouth dip to take an aching nipple in and she shivered, her legs constricting around him and he slipped his thumb to tantalizingly circle her nub of pleasure, mewling breaths escaping her mouth.

“Open your eyes.” When she did he felt a swell of something inside him, his thrusts becoming more erratic and he knew he was closer to the edge. He gave her a flick of his thumb which caused her to quiver, tremors of pleasure rolling off her in waves and tides and soon he was groaning out her name in her neck, her scent in his nose, his release echoing hers.

“Jaime.” His name on her lips had him smiling against her skin and he slowly eased back to let him see her eyes, skin still not leaving hers, chest still crushing her soft little breasts.

“I’m giving more than a fuck.”

 


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he brought her home was the same night he took her first time in the bath at the tennis courts, promises of a repeat (or repeats) flowing through his mouth as he kissed her and touched her from the elevator to the door, stopping only to pull the key from his jacket pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, content (still) explicit.

The first time he brought her home was the same night he took her _first time_ in the bath at the tennis courts, promises of a repeat (or repeats) flowing through his mouth as he kissed her and touched her from the elevator to the door, stopping only to pull the key from his jacket pocket. By the time they made it in Jaime was undressing her, lights forgotten to be turned on as he guided her to the bedroom, only to land on the couch where he peeled layers and layers of clothes and skin and tasted every inch of hers in the moonlight, mouth descending to trace every freckle, every pale patch of skin, every hollow and crevice, every hard muscle and slight (but soft) curve. She writhed under him when he dipped his tongue to taste her beneath her folds, bucking and bucking, voice barely a whisper as she grunted and breathed heavily while he laved every spot with his tongue and lips. He moved up then, fingers replacing his mouth, plunging deeper into her, reminding her of what had been there earlier, earlier in the locker room when she quickly turned them over. He could see the darkened blush on her face even in the dark and he grinned at her boldness.

“Is this alright?” were her words as she sat astride him, knees on either side of him and he pulled himself up to meet her in the space between, his mouth pulling and tugging at her own as he guided her hands to take his cock and lead it to her entrance.

“Alright is an understatement.” He released a breath as she moved, rolling her hips to take him in further and deeper and he drove his hand to hold her by her hips and guide her movements. She rode him, slower, much slower, the sensations eating through him until he could take it no longer and he flipped them over, plunging with much certainty, more certain than earlier, now sure that this is what both of them wanted and he had never wanted anything, or anyone, this bad.

His name was on her mouth and her gasps were drowning him, making him thrust quicker, deeper and he felt her clench her walls, an involuntary movement that caused him to shudder, a sudden groan torn from his throat. “Do it again. Do it again Brienne.” He noted her confusion and chuckled, mouth burying itself in the hollows between her collarbones and understanding flickered in her eyes, responding with a nod as she clenched her walls again and again and he was rolling down from his high in a slowly unravelling climax.

 

 

He found her on his bed the following morning, curled and tucked against him, wispy strands of pale blonde hair peeking from the blankets and he pulled her closer, cock already stirring at the thought of her that close. They seemed to have made it to bed and he snorted at how eager they must have been.

“Morning.” He whispered into her ear as he peeled the blanket back. He kissed the tip of her nose and she scrunched it, burying it into the warmth of his neck and he traced her arms with his fingers, teasing and teasing and she was all gooseflesh when he coaxed her onto her back and began kissing her neck, her throat, her breasts, taking a budding nipple in his mouth, slowly, gently, down her stomach, her belly button, her mound. He kissed the soft patch of skin in her inner thigh before he dipped to taste her, the contact had her opening her eyes, an involuntary shudder coursing through her, an almost girly shriek issuing from her mouth when she quickly pulled away, legs closed in an instant and he was chuckling. “It’s not as if I didn’t have my mouth between your thighs last night.”

She blushed despite her nakedness and she pulled a blanket to cover her frame, shoulder squaring to turn away from him. He crawled to her, pulling her back to bed, her back pressed against his chest. They were facing the windows, sunlight streaming in and he kissed her shoulders, tasting freckles there and let his hand slip between her thighs. She made a little noise at the back of her throat which had him snorting. He coaxed her to pull one leg up, to drape it back to allow him more room for movement and he tore the most delicious of grunts from her when he touched her pulsating nub. “Stop. Last night we had...too much…”

“You want me to stop?” his eyes lighted, amused, fingers stopping, waiting for a response from her.

“I was joking,” was her quick response as she guided his hand back.

 

 


	5. Mine, Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And she did though it took her some time to adjust, to acquaint herself with an armour strong enough to withstand Cersei’s ghost in the first few months and when the ghost was gone and the chasm was closing between them she shed off her armour and he made sure she would never need to don another one to fight because she would have him, in the same way that he would have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end finally! Hope you enjoyed this drabble. Now let's continue with The Order of Things shall we? It is quite hard to write, too much stuff and too much words and hope I can post the update before the week ends.

The first time Brienne learned of Cersei was half a year after and though she did not speak so much he knew it caused a certain sense of uncertainty to grow between them. Cersei’s words had cut her because of him. He knew it would never have if he hadn’t been involved with the wench in the first place. She had known how people mocked her because of her height and freckles but nothing had stopped her before until now and though she placated him with words, words are only words and he knew a chasm had opened up between them. Besides, he had not named what it was that they were doing, fucking and fucking, touching and touching though at times he refused to simply refer to sex as fuck but as something more, like making love.

He asked her to make love to him once, when all those times starting it had never needed words, he would only have to kiss her and they would soon be entwined and entangled around each other, clothes-less and inhibitions crumbling, but that time he did ask her to make love to him she was surprised and confused his words for taunts and she swiftly told him not to mock her again and she refused. He learned then that whatever it was between them was more than fucking, in the first place he did offer to give her _more_ than a fuck, though they never really gotten around to discussing it and perhaps with Cersei, his former lover, in between them, everything had to be defined. She had her own bunch of insecurities to contend with and he has his own but they were better together and perhaps their chances at overcoming the fight with all these could be better if they fight them together. He would never fight for the wench. He would never need to anyway, besides Brienne wouldn’t want to be treated like a fragile girl. Instead, he would fight _with_ her.

“Fight with me.”

And she did though it took her some time to adjust, to acquaint herself with an armour strong enough to withstand Cersei’s ghost in the first few months and when the ghost was gone and the chasm was closing between them she shed off her armour and he made sure she would never need don another one to fight because she would have him, in the same way that he would have her.

 

 

The first time he felt desperate was at the sept, on the day of Tyrion and Sansa Stark’s marriage following a bitter falling out with his family. Tyrion was the only one in speaking terms with him, and his brother was all he had of his family (as was he to Tyrion). Cersei had long been forgotten but her ghosts hung at every corner of their lives as she demonstrated on a surprise visit one night, details of which he did not spare Brienne. She needed to know, she needed to know that he had turned Cersei away because of her, not because he was guilty, no, never that, but because he wanted only one woman and that was her, his Brienne, his wench with the blue eyes. Besides, love should never be based on guilt. And he knew his feelings went beyond that four-lettered word but there were no words strong enough to contain all his feelings so love would have to suffice.

“It’s you I want Brienne.” His hands were enclosing her hands, not much bigger than his, in the sept, as Tyrion and Sansa Stark exchanged vows. She looked away then, still not speaking to him and as the septon droned on and on he pulled her into the farthest corner of the sept, hidden from all the attendees and he kissed her and marked her and hiked her skirts up (Catelyn had insisted she wore a dress for the occasion) and though she fought and fought he overpowered her (or she let him overpower her) and he was unzipping his pants and guiding his hard cock in her, words of _mine, mine, mine, yours, yours, yours,_ slipping from his mouth to hers, words that were not much different from what the bride and groom were muttering in the altar and he knew he was making an irrevocable vow to take her forever and be hers alone. “Mine.”

“Mine.” Her words he caught in her mouth and he smiled. “Yours.”

Jaime slipped a hand between them to take her hand and guide it to touch his heart through the skin and clothes, beating and beating and hers. “Yours.” 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Work inspired by Gabrielle Aplin's Evaporate.
> 
> When it’s too hard and too late  
> When I’m too tired to run away  
> When it can’t stay the way it was  
> I need you ‘cause  
> You smash the trouble I can’t take  
> And all the pieces of the break  
> Evaporate, evaporate, evaporate


End file.
